Le Casa Stregata
by AmeryMarie
Summary: A girl alone in the world, strange happenings, a dream, a dress, and a Halloween party at a house surrounded by intrigue find her alone with a man or... Will she live or die? A Halloween three-shot. E/B, Mature
1. Chapter 1 The Dress

**Disclaimer: **S. Meyer owns all recognizable characters, plots, etc. Only original content, characters, etc. belongs to author. No copyright infringement intended. Any errors contained herein, are expressly the fault of the author and not her betas.

**A/N:** Not sure what prompted this, honestly, but I decided to write a little something for Halloween. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but it turned into a three-shot instead. Turned out there was more to the story than I anticipated, but the entire thing is written and the next two chapters are with my beta. I will post the next chapter in a couple days, and the final on Halloween. Thanks to V for the beta and Yogacat, Redvelvetheaven, and Profitina for prereading for me. Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Thanks!

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**Le Casa Stregata**

Chapter 1 – The Costume Store

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_Halloween. Yay, _she thinks.

With a roll of her eyes, she steps off the bus and makes her way across the busy street to the costume store where she's meeting her friends. She was supposed to have been there nearly an hour ago, but a work emergency held her up…_because there are so many emergencies in the coffee business; she's a barista, not a heart surgeon. _ She rolls her eyes again. The girls are no doubt going to be annoyed with her, but she couldn't refuse to stay; unlike them, she actually needs her job. After all, she has rent to pay. Not everyone has well-to-do fathers and richie-rich boyfriends to foot the bill.

She's not really jealous of them; Daddy Dearest number one is a raging alcoholic who likes them barely legal, Daddy Dearest number two ran off with his secretary, and both boyfriends are philandering jackasses, not to mention complete wastes of space. If that's what comes with having money, then she's happy to have none...mostly. A little more than what she currently has would be nice.

She finds her friends outside of the dressing rooms in the back of the store, and the moment she sees them she begins to issue apologies, but one annoyed glare from the brunette and she shuts right up; the bored looking blonde rolls her eyes. An armful of costumes are shoved at her before she's pushed into an empty dressing room, with the blonde ordering, "Hurry up, we don't have all night. Some of us have schedules to keep."

_Hah!_ Bella scoffs internally, certain she can teach both of them a thing or two about schedules. Her entire life has become one big day planner, her days mapped out in hourly slots, color-coded by activity, and her weeks outlined with deadlines and bold-faced final due dates. Oh, yes, she knows about schedules. She practically has to pencil bathroom breaks in. However, to avoid the fight and ensuing conversation that _will_ occur should she call them out on it – _It's just so hard, y'know? Life…it's just so hard. _– she does as she's told, and begins trying on the pile of costumes she's been handed, each one skimpier than the last.

More than thirty minutes and countless costumes later, she still hasn't found anything even remotely to her liking, and she's sitting half-naked in the dressing room waiting for the next armload of costumes to try on. The door flies open, and the brunette bursts in, hands behind her back, looking positively giddy.

"I found it!" she claims. "Now, close your eyes."

The fanfare is hardly necessary, but she once again does as told because it's the fastest way to cut through the bullshit. "Are they closed?" the girl asks.

"Yes," she sighs, failing to keep the exasperation out of her voice. Her friend ignores it.

"Ta-da!"

Opening her eyes hesitantly, Bella gapes at the costume being presented to her with a look of horror on her face that is mistaken for shock and awe. _She got the shock part right._

"I know, right? It's _so_ great!"

_Great_ isn't the word Bella has in mind, and she tells her so.

"Jessica, you are out of your fucking mind. I am _not_ wearing that," she declares adamantly, still staring with undisguised horror at the wisps of fabric masquerading as a costume. _What the fuck is it supposed to be, anyway?_

"It's a gypsy costume, and what's wrong with it? You'd look hot in it, and it's totally affordable." Jessica cocks her hip, rests her hand on it and glares at Bella, daring her to defame the costume, which Bella does; she's never liked to disappoint.

"What's wrong with it? Um, for one, how about it'll barely cover up my bits and pieces; and two – have you been outside recently? It's fucking cold out there! We don't live in the tropics, and I don't work at Scores." _And three – had she asked that question out loud?_ "I'm not wearing it."

"But, Bella…" Jessica whines, "you're in college and going to a frat party – get into the spirit and live a little!"

"I'm not going to dress up like a whore_ exactly _for that reason. I'm just not comfortable dressing that way at a party full of drunken frat boys. Now, find me something to wear that isn't going to make me look like a trollop, and doesn't scream, 'I'm drunk and easy, fuck me now, please,' or I'm not going…and that's final."

"Whatever, Granny Swan, but I want you to know that you're no fun," Jessica grudgingly concedes.

"Duly noted. I can live with that." She receives a scowl from her peeved friend, but she could care less.

"Come on, Lo," Jess, still scowling, demands of the bored blonde leaning against the wall across from Bella's dressing room, arms crossed with a smirk on her face. _So happy to provide you with some amusement, Miss High-and-Mighty-I'm-Better-Than-You,_ Bella thinks in annoyance.

She isn't exactly fond of Lauren, but she hides her disdain better than Lauren does. Although, Lauren isn't the nicest person, so her behavior is only to be expected. The two girls only play nice for Jessica's benefit. Bella's never really understood why Jessica and Lauren are friends in the first place. All they have in common is that they went to the same private schools growing up and that they are members of the same socio-economic class, and maybe in their world that's enough reason to be friends, but not in Bella's.

"Let's go find a habit for the nun over there. I swear to God, some people are so difficult to please. I mean, it's Halloween for fuck's sake! What does she want to wear – a potato sack? Maybe some of that hideous face paint crap, and like that fake wound shit? I just don't…" Jess complains.

Listening to Jess's grumbling trail away from the dressing room the same way Lauren trails behind Jess, Bella rolls her eyes. _Overdramatic much?_

She hasn't been cooling her heels for long when a pile of dark crimson fabric cascades dramatically over the door, two hangers hook over the top, holding them in place to reveal a dress and matching coat. "Well, that was fast, especially for you, Jess," Bella teases – Jessica is a world-class dawdler – as she gets up from the stool to grab the dress, and she's overwhelmed for a moment at the seemingly overabundance of cloth. Then again, considering how little there was to almost everything she's tried on so far, anything with slightly more fabric than a bikini would seem like too much material.

A crease forms on her forehead when her hand makes contact with the gown. It's velvet, heavy and plush, and seems too sumptuous for anything one would find in a costume shop, but she shrugs and slips it off the hanger anyway. _Leave it to Jessica to find the good stuff in a seasonal holiday store, _she tells herself. Already down to her skivvies from the last round of sluttastic costumes Jess had brought her, she steps into the dress, pulling it up her body and slipping her arms through the holes.

Zipping it up, the quality of both the fabric and the construction surprises her once again. She's about to question it as she turns to see herself in the mirror, but immediately shushes the voice when she sees her reflection. She's never been one to toot her own horn – with her brown 'cow' eyes, as she thinks them to be, and brown wavy hair, she knows she's rather plain – but even she has to admit that she looks stunning. She turns in front of the mirror, viewing herself from every angle, looking for flaws, but is unable to find a single one. She gazes appreciatively at the beauty in the mirror, thinking she's a vision.

Her complexion is transformed from its normal pallor to cream and rose by the deep tone of the velvet combined with the delicate, antique-looking ivory lace that forms the barely-there cap sleeves, and trims both the hem and neckline, drawing the eye to her décolletage. It fits like a glove, too – molding to her body in the most flattering way, pushing her breasts up and nipping in smartly at the waist. The skirt swells over her hips before falling straight to the ground, while an overskirt drapes from hip to hip, dipping down over her thighs in front and wrapping around to the back where it gathers just above the rise of her derriere, and then cascades down, ending a few inches past the hem of the skirt.

A hand's width above the bustled train, a triangle of her back – from shoulder to shoulder and ending in a point a little more than halfway down – lays exposed, while in front, the neckline slashes straight across, revealing the entirety of her neck and chest down to the gentle curvature of the very tops of her pert breasts. She normally dresses somewhat modestly – she's a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl – preferring to not draw too much attention to herself, so although the majority of her body is covered, it still shows more skin than normal for her. However, rather than trashy, the look is somehow demurely sensual, if something can be called such a thing.

Removing the cape-like coat from its hanger, something about the collar instantly draws her eye – it's somehow wrong – but she can't explain why. It isn't until she shrugs it over her shoulders that she realizes what it is, and then she feels silly for not having thought to question what the costume was. The scalloped collar that had been laying flat against the coat while on the hanger, stands up stiffly around her neck once tied, a subtle version of the traditional collar found on most vampire costumes.

She continues to twirl in front of the mirror, enchanted by the image of a more perfect, beautiful her reflected there. She likes what she sees so much that she doesn't notice the additional costumes that have been flung over the dressing room door, Jessica's impatient huffing, or Lauren's snarky comment that, _'_some_ people are so picky.'_

What finally breaks her out of her self-indulgent rapture is the fist that bangs against the dressing room door – _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ – followed by Lauren demanding, "Hey, Miss Priss – could you hurry it up in there? Time's a-wastin', and some of us have places to be."

"Oh, yeah! Um…coming," she blusters, discomposed by her distracting vanity**.**

Opening the dressing room door, she's smugly satisfied by the way Lauren's jaw hits the floor and stays there, her gaping maw more than confirming how great she looks. _Who's plain-Jane and not attractive now, bitch?_ She'll probably feel guilty for the thought later, but she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. Right now, she's going to enjoy her uncharacteristically uncharitable thoughts.

"W-wow, Bella! You look incredible! Doesn't she, Lo?" Jess enthuses.

"I guess," she reluctantly agrees, causing Jess to look at her incredulously. "I mean, she looks okay, but it's probably really expensive. Do you think you can afford it, Bella?"

Internally raging at the dig, and also at the fact that she hasn't even considered the cost, she barely manages to keep it together. She knows better than to show any weakness in front of Lauren; once she finds a chink in your armor, she worries away at it, trying to do as much damage as possible. Just as she opens her mouth to let Lauren have it, Jessica swoops in, keeping her from saying something she'll regret. Possibly.

"Who the hell cares if she can afford it?" she tells Lauren, and then turns back to Bella. "You pay whatever you can afford, and I'll make up the difference just so I can borrow it next year. That costume is fantastic, babe. You have to get it. Where in the world did you…" Jess starts, only to be cut off by Bella's need to rub salt in the small wound she's caused Lauren by looking so great.

"I know, right? It's absolutely perfect. I can't believe you…" she trails off, noticing that her friend is still holding the costume that was responsible for her earlier shit fit. "Why do you still have that gypsy costume? I told you I wasn't going to wear it."

Jess looks slightly uncomfortable and then sniffs defensively. "What? You didn't want it, so I'm buying it. I think it's cute," she adds, lifting her chin and setting her shoulders.

"Jess, don't you already have a costume?"

"Yes, but I like this one better…maybe. I don't know yet. I have to compare them."

"Is that…_thing_ even legal to wear in public?"

"I don't know," she answers, a smile slowly spreading across her face, "but I'll have fun finding out. So where did…"

"Ladies," says a dark-haired fey-like girl who appears out of nowhere. "We are just about to lock up for the night. Can I get you to bring your purchases up to the counter so I can ring you up, please?"

"Oh, sorry! We're on our way," Jess answers cheerily.

"Thank God! If we don't get out of here, like, now, I'm going to be late for dinner with Tyler. And he made reservations. Let's go," Lauren declares, grabbing Jessica's arm.

"Lauren, Bella's not done yet. We can't just go without knowing…"

It's better to get them out of there now while Lauren is still being semi-civil. God forbid she be late to dinner with Tyler. He may occupy his time while waiting on her with a waitress, completely forgetting that he has a girlfriend, and then blame Lauren's lateness when she catches him at it; it wouldn't be the first time. Bella doesn't want this to turn into a showdown at the Halloween Costume Corral. Not because she's afraid of Lauren – Bella has no problem putting Lauren in her place – but because she hates putting Jessica in the middle…and maybe a little bit because she's worried if Jess ever has to choose between them, she'll come out on the losing end, so she cuts Jessica off.

"Oh, no… Um, it's okay. You guys go. I'll be fine."

"Bells…are you sure? It's not that big…"

"Jess, I appreciate the offer, but I would never…" she says, shaking her head. "I've got it. I'm sure. You girls just get out of here. I wouldn't want Lauren to keep Tyler waiting all by his _lonesome_."

Jessica gives her a sharp look, before shrugging her shoulders in acceptance. "Okay, babe, if you say so. Call me when you get home so I know you made it safe. I hate that you have to take the bus. I'd give you a ride, but I rode here with Lauren, and..."

Bella rolls her eyes. She appreciates the sentiment – it's not as if she enjoys riding the bus either – but Jessica acts as if public transportation is a smorgasbord of communicable diseases…well, it probably is, but whatever. The point is, Jessica wouldn't be caught dead on a bus, and she hates that Bella has had to resort to taking them since her truck broke down; she can't afford to have it fixed right now. She's been saving up for the repairs, but after paying her rent, utility and grocery bills, she isn't left with a lot to put aside, and buying the costume is sure to wipe out most if not all of her repair fund. _Pride goeth before a fall, _Bella thinks, but she isn't going to back down…not in front of Lauren, at least.

"I will, Jess."

"Okay, well, see you tomorrow. I'll pick you up around nine-ish. Mwah! Love ya!" Jess air kisses at her and turns to the sloe-eyed salesgirl whom Bella hadn't even realized was still present.

"Love you, too. Bye, Lauren. Have a great night with Tyler. Hope you're not late," she taunts, her voice saccharine with insincerity.

"Whatever," Bella hears her mutter lowly in a voice not intended for Bella's ears, adding in a conversational tone, "Bye to you, too, Isabella."

Lauren's goading her – everyone knows she hates her full name. She finds it hard to keep from wincing at its use, but the sadistic little smile on the other girl's face effectively prevents the memories of the only person who ever called her by her full name from surfacing, and the pain of losing them from crossing her face. Unable to get a reaction, Lauren scowls and walks off, following Jessica up to the register. Bella stands there for a moment, listening as Jessica's mindless chatter with the salesgirl fades…

"_Love your shoes by the way."_

"_Oh, thanks. They're new, but I'm not sure if I really like them." _

"_Are you kidding me? They make your legs look great!"_

"_You think it's the heels and not the hours I spend at the gym?"_

"_Well, it's probably the gym, but those heels definitely highlight and enhance your hard work."_

…before turning to the dressing room to change back into her clothes.

~∞Ѿ∞~

By the time Bella makes it up to the register, costume in hand, Jessica and Lauren are nowhere in sight. She hands her costume to the girl, and nervously waits, afraid to know what the damage is, while she rings her up. Without asking the total, she hands over her debit card and is relieved when the sale goes through. She still refuses to look at the price, and covers the total up with her hand when she signs the receipt. _She'll look later,_ she vows, shoving both the sales slip and her card hastily into her purse.

"If you'll give me just a minute, Ms. Swan, I'll go get you a garment bag so the costume doesn't get damaged or dirty on your way home," the clerk offers, startling Bella.

"H-how did you know my name?" she inquires both warily and wearily.

"It was on your card, silly. I'm Alice, by the way." She holds her hand out for Bella to shake, and she takes it, noting as she pulls away how cold her hands are, but chalks it up to the temperature inside the store; it isn't exactly warm in there.

"Nice to meet you, Alice."

"You too, Bella. Lemme just go get that bag. Be right back."

She's gone and back, putting the dress inside the garment bag with practiced ease, and then slipping a large, dark, plastic bag over the hook at the top almost before Bella has time to register that she's gone. She's too busy trying to remember if she told Alice her first name or not. She knows she must have, but she just can't seem to remember doing so.

"What's in the bag?" she inquires, knowing she hasn't purchased anything else.

"Oh, just the accessories that come with it – you know, hat, necklace, gloves. We store them in the back so they don't get lost. Good thing I had to run to the back for the garment bag, otherwise I would have forgotten them. Couldn't have you going to that party without all the proper accoutrements, now could we?" she asks with a wink, using the French pronunciation of 'accoutrements.'

On to her little scheme, Bella smiles at her, grateful despite her pride and dislike of charity, replying, "I suppose not…as long as it's okay? I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble for me."

"Pish-posh," the girl – _Alice, _she reminds herself – dismisses with a wave of her hand. "At that price, you more than paid for them." She gives her a conspiratorial smirk, before adding with a shrug, "Trust me, it's fine. My parents own the place."

"Thanks, Alice." And she really means it. She had no clue what to do about accessories, and she really can't afford to spend more money that she doesn't have.

"Don't mention it. I'm deriving great satisfaction from being able to do something to put that stuck-up bitch in her place. There we go," she announces, smoothing out the now-zipped garment bag and straightening back up, "all set. Now, make sure to hang it up and unzip the bag when you get home, that way it'll eliminate and prevent wrinkling, and to let the fabric breathe. Oh, and make sure not to fold it over your arm while walking, or jostle it around too much in general."

Bella grimaces, knowing that it's going to be hard to do on the bus.

Catching it, Alice says, "Oh, damn! That's right, you're taking the bus. Well…" Bella can see the wheels turning in her head, "where do you live? If it's on my way, I can give you a ride!"

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to…"

"Nonsense, Bella! You're not asking, I'm offering, and I'm not doing it out of charity. I'm doing it because I can't stand Lauren's type and, as a former recipient of her style of bullying, it's my karmic duty to help a sister out. I live…"

Bella's place is totally on her way home, and after a little more cajoling, she finally-and much to Alice's delight-relents. Alice lives just past Bella in one of the nicest parts of the city. She has to be aware that Bella lives in one of the many less desirable neighborhoods, especially compared to her posh address, but if so, she doesn't say a word about it, making Bella feel a bit less like the pathetic charity case she knows she is.

"Well, can I help you finish closing up?" she offers, thinking it's the least she can do considering all Alice has done for her.

"Nope! Let me just run to the back to grab my purse and tell my brother I'm leaving."

Bella hadn't even been aware that anyone else was in the store. "Okay."

Alice returns a few minutes later with a large Louis Vuitton tote – _gulp_ – and a set of keys jingling from one delicate finger, saying, "Let's go!"

~∞Ѿ∞~

Only one car remains in the deserted parking lot when Bella follows Alice out of the front door – a bright yellow, European sports car – and it can't possibly be Alice's…Bella hopes. But, of course, it is, making Bella even more intently aware of the divide between them than the pricey tote had. Alice is a whole different level of wealthy than anyone Bella knows, which is saying something. Not even Lauren or Jessica drive vehicles this pricey, and they're both come from pretty established families. Alice seems to notice Bella eyeballing her car with trepidation and shrugs, informing her with an apologetic grimace, "Old money."

"How old?" Bella retorts snappily, still looking a bit shell-shocked.

"Really old," Alice answers, and then rationalizes, "It's fun to drive, though."

Bella laughs, supposing that she's right – if you have to drive a pricey car, it might as well be one that's fun to drive.

Alice chatters away animatedly the entire way, putting Bella mostly at ease. She's a firecracker – a big bang in a small package – and Bella feels as if she's known her for years. She's so comfortable that she almost doesn't realize how close they are to Bella's neighborhood. Almost, but not quite. The closer they draw to her shitty apartment building, the more her apprehension grows, and by the time they actually arrive and park in front of her building, Alice hopping out of the car to help her carry her purchases in, she panics.

Bella used to have so much more than this empty, ramshackle existence. She used to have a life with a family, and was more than just barely getting by the way she is now. Maybe her things still weren't as fancy as Alice's, or even Jessica and Lauren's, but they were nicer than what she has now. It was only two years ago, but it's hard to remember when she didn't live in a neighborhood where she had to clutch a can of pepper spray in her hand, walk quickly, and keep her head down when she walked home from the bus stop after working the evening shift.

Life used to be comfortable, something she wasn't embarrassed to let people be a part of…_but that was then and this is now_, she reminds herself. She just hates this part, where she takes a risk, allowing someone new to know her, they take one look at how not like them she is, and she has to watch the shades come down over their eyes – '_No Vacancies', _they say. In her third year of attending a prestigious private college, it's happened too many times to count, but it still hurts. She may have lost everything, she may no longer be the optimistic, confident girl she once was – not that you'd ever know; she's got bravado in spades – but she still has her pride, and it doesn't need to take any more hits than it already has.

"Alice, really, you don't need to help me in with this stuff. I can take it," she informs her new 'friend' as she frantically tries to snatch the garment bag away from her. "You've done enough for me tonight as is."

"Bella, you're going to wrinkle it!" she scolds, entering the vestibule, and heading straight down the hall toward the back of the building. "Would you just let me help you, if not for me, then do it for the dress. Honestly, I couldn't in all good conscience allow you to carry this thing on flat ground, let alone while traversing stairs…at least, I'm assuming you don't live on the first floor?"

Alice looks to her for confirmation, and Bella shakes her head, confirming that she does indeed _not_ live on the first floor.

"See, I knew it. You didn't look like a first floor dweller to me. Anyway, I can hardly trust you to get this dress all the way to your apartment without tripping and tumbling down the stairs to your demise, or even worse…the gown's." Her free hand flies to her chest as she recoils in horror. Bella, in no frame of mind to process sarcasm or even humor, doesn't get the joke, and blanching, and her face becomes a mirror image of Alice's.

"Oh, relax! I'm just joshin' ya'. I'd totally be more worried about you…but, something happening to the dress would still suck." Bella cocks an eyebrow at her, and Alice feigns exasperation as she continues walking. "What? Don't look at me like that! I'm just sayin' it would suck."

Finding her voice just as they enter the stairwell, Bella juts her chin out and asks, "What makes you so sure I would fall?"

Coming to a sudden stop, Alice turns – free hand on her hip – to face her. "Bells, you tripped like _three times_ in the short distance from the store to my car, and I don't know how many times you've already stumbled since we arrived here…and that's before we've even started up the stairs."

"Yeah, but that's – th-that's b-because," her bottom lip begins quivering, causing her to stutter and tears pool in her eyes, "you m-make me n-nervous," and then she bursts into tears.

"Bella! What's wrong, honey?" Alice begs, alarmed by her outburst. Her arms almost instantly come around Bella, wrapping her up tight in her embrace, and she awkwardly pats her back almost as if she were unfamiliar with the gesture of providing comfort.

Even in the midst of her distress, Bella notices how firm…no, hard Alice's chest is, and that her arms feel like steel bands around her. _She really wasn't kidding about the working out,_ she thinks absently while sobbing pathetically against Alice's shoulder. She tries to answer, but can't manage to spit out anything comprehensible in the state she's in.

"There, there, honey. Shhh, now. It's okay," Alice speaks to her soothingly, gently rubbing circles against her back until Bella calms.

The longer she remains in Alice's embrace, the more Bella notices how frozen she is, the cold gradually seeping through the layers of their clothes, as if Alice were emitting the chill rather than retaining it. _Utterly ridiculous, Bella, _she scoffs at the thought, but it distracts her enough that she calms, and gently extricates herself from Alice's arms, thoroughly embarrassed over her breakdown.

Turning away for a moment to wipe the tears from her face, when she again faces Alice, she stares at the ground and begins to apologize. "I'm so sorry!" she whispers brokenly. "I'm so… God, I can't even imagine what you must think of me right now. I swear I'm not a basket case despite doing my best to prove to the opposite. If you want to run now before you get in too deep, feel free. Save yourself. I'll be fine."

Her rambling would have continued, were it not for Alice. "Bella, shut up." Not sure what to think, Bella's head snaps up, but she's only partially relieved when she finds a small smile on her face. "I'm not running away. I think we could become really good friends, and friends don't run out on each other over a few tears.

"You mind telling me what that was all about, though. I'm feeling adrift in the sea of tears you just cried, and could maybe use a push in the right direction. However, it'd be even better, and save us both a ton of confusion, if you just reeled me in."

"I just… You're so rich, and I'm obviously not, and after Lauren… I'm just feeling a little vulnerable, and worried, and embarrassed and whole slew of other things."

"Hey, don't prejudge me based on one snobby cunt, who is obviously cunty to you only because you intimidate her." Bella rolls her eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady. She so obviously is. Girls like her only pick relentlessly on the girls who they feel are competition, but that's a conversation for another time. _I_ gave you no reason to believe, or even consider, that I would act the same as her. In fact, I hoped that my actions would have proven to be quite opposite of that.

"You're not where you live, Bella, or the shoes you wear, or the car you drive, or the bus you ride. You're not your possessions or the situations around you that are out of your control – you're you and your own actions, nothing more, nothing less. That's what I'm going to judge you on. Not all of this," with a graceful sweeping gesture, she indicates the ramshackle building around them, "just you. You might not believe this, but I grew up in a place worse than this could ever be, before my parents adopted me, but that, too, is a story for another time.

"For now, let's get you upstairs to your apartment. It's getting late, and you –" she looks pointedly at Bella, "– need to be getting your beauty rest if you're going to knock 'em dead tomorrow night."

~∞Ѿ∞~

Putting her key in the lock, her door pushes open, the defective latch clicking softly, and Bella swears under her breath. "Sonofabitchmotherfucker."

"Nice language, Bella. You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Alice chirps. A shadow crosses Bella's face; she doesn't know if Alice sees it, but she's grateful all the same when she moves the conversation along without waiting for an answer. "What's got you cursing a blue streak, sailor?"

"Huh? Oh! Um, something's wrong with my doorknob, and it doesn't want to latch, so if I don't lock the deadbolt, my door doesn't actually lock. I was running late for class this morning, and in my haste, must have forgotten to lock it. It's not as if I have any valuables that anyone would be interested in stealing, but still…bad neighborhood, you know how it…" she cuts her comment off abruptly, because based on Alice's address, she obviously doesn't know. Anyway, it's just careless of me, and my da…it pisses me off when I do it. Well, after you," she finishes holding the door open for Alice.

Bella had holds her breath as Alice walks into her apartment and mimics the way she glances around, trying to see the place through her eyes After a moment, Alice remarks, "Seriously, you were worried about my reaction to this? Honey, this is like the Taj-Mahal compared to places I've been forced to live in."

She says it so offhandedly that, were it not for the haunted look in her eyes, assuring Bella of the truth, she would think Alice was just trying to make her feel less self-conscious of her humble abode-slash-tenement. She's suddenly unsure that, if the time ever comes that Alice wants to share her tragic past with her, she'll even want to know. They're eyes lock for a moment, the depth of their pain naked for the other to see, and then they both look away.

"Um, so this is it…Chez Swan. Welcome," Bella announces. She's known Alice for less than an hour, but something profound had just passed between them, leaving Bella feeling as if they've formed a meaningful bond in a world full of throw-away friends and casual acquaintances. It's a feeling she hasn't felt in years, and though it's not exactly pleasant, she welcomes it; it's nice to feel connected to someone, if even for a moment.

Alice only stays long enough to hang the garment bag and exchange numbers, and then Bella is walking her to the door to see her off. Surprising both of them, she throws her arms around Alice's neck just as the smaller girl is about step into the empty hall. At first, Alice freezes, but it's so brief that Bella wonders if she imagined it and, as Alice returns the hug, Bella tells her sincerely, "Thank you, Alice. For everything."

Though the words she wants to say – _for not making me feel like trash, for offering understanding and acceptance instead of pity, for being so kind and genuine_ – remain unspoken she knows Alice understands. Alice doesn't say anything – doesn't need to, Bella gets it – as she cups her cheek, smiling softly, before she walks out, tossing over her shoulder, "Night, Bella. Have fun tomorrow night. Just so you know, I expect to hear about it in detail, and…make sure to lock your door. You can't be too safe, never know what kind of crazies are out there."

Seconds before she disappears into the stairwell and out of Bella's sight, Alice looks at Bella over her shoulder, a Cheshire grin stealing across her face and her eyes. "Ooh!" she says, her eyes glittering mischievously. "If you can, you should get pictures of Lauren's face when she first sees you." With a wink, she's gone.

~∞Ѿ∞~

Later, laying in bed thinking about her day, the whole experience with Alice leaves her exhausted and emotionally wrung out, so she lets her mind drift to the most pleasant moment of her day, lingering over the details of the gown and how she looked in it. For the first time in possibly…ever, she's excited about attending a party, but her excitement proves to be no match for weariness that's permeating all the way to her bones, and she begins to drift off. Caught in that transcendental plane between awake and asleep, little things come back to her.

How she had sworn Alice's eyes were a dark brown – almost black, really – when she had first seen her outside the dressing room, but later they had appeared to be a rich, tawny ochre. The way she'd appeared – seemingly out of thin air – just in time to interrupt as Jessica tried to ask her a question…and that. What in the world had Jessica kept trying to ask only to be repeatedly interrupted before she could spit it out? And why hadn't there been a single customer enter the story the entire time she was there? Come to think of it, why hadn't she seen any employees aside from Alice, or even signs of them?

Slipping further under the dark mantle of sleep, the oddities start to come to her faster, almost rapid cycling through her more than semi-unconscious mind. Alice's unnatural stillness, the way she'd tirelessly held the heavy garment bag up and off the ground for such a long time with such apparent ease, how cold she'd felt, her looks – surely no mere human could be that flawlessly good looking – and…had she or Alice led the way to her door? Finally, Bella thinks about the look in Alice's eyes when she'd mentioned her childhood, and the parting message she'd given Bella...the one about locking the door, not the one where she requested pictures of Lauren sulking. What had that meant? Was it a warning? Or was it just a friend's concern due to the bad neighborhood.

Whatever it was, Bella thinks there is something off about Alice, but she doesn't know what. _Right Bella, _she thinks, _maybe she's a superhero. Yeah, she's Batgirl and you're the last daughter of Krypton._ She rolls her eyes at herself._ Not even the same movie, idiot, _is her last thought before sleep finally claims her.

That night, she again dreams of the beautiful man that's been haunting her nights for months.

_He wears the dark charcoal-almost black wool, evening jacket with the matching raw silk cravat tied around his neck, and white button-up shirt that worn several times before, but not as frequently as his other recurrent ensembles. Unlike the other clothes – all stylish, well tailored, and obviously designer, but ordinary guy clothes – this getup is reminiscent of the formal wear of a bygone era, and seeing him in it makes her yearn for things that she hasn't had an urge for in quite some time. Even his hair his matches his outfit, the usually disheveled mop is all slicked back in a not entirely successful attempt at containing it. The overall effect is mouthwatering; he's ridiculously handsome in a way that he isn't in his well-fitting jeans and t-shirts…although he looks amazing in those too. _

_Up to this point, the dream is identical to the countless others she's had with increasing frequency over the past few months. However, instead of sitting with him in the forest-surrounded meadow as she usually does, she's reclining on an old-fashioned, silk fainting couch in a strange room illuminated by candlelight. And rather than wearing the pajamas she went to bed in that night, she's dressed in the gown that's hanging in front of the window across from the foot of her bed. The final variance is that rather than maintaining a respectable distance and talking – well, really she talks while he asks questions, but answers none – he's hovering over her supine form, supporting his upper body with the arms he has wrapped around her waist, and from the looks of things they are doing anything but talking._

_They've never touched before, and the feeling is indescribable – too much, yet not enough. She wants to beg for more, but also wants him to stop. It's heaven and hell, the agony and the ecstasy, everything and nothing, and all of it all at once. She flings one arm over her head as his arms tighten around her, causing her body to arch further into his and her head to fall back, revealing the smooth, creamy expanse of her neck. Breathing her in, his nose traces a line from the neckline of her dress all the way up to the hollow just behind her ear where he presses a soft kiss with trembling lips, and her eyes roll to the back of her head. _

_Her body embows to the point of breaking, every line of her taut as she tries to get as close to him as humanly possible – closer if possible – by making an offering of herself. When his mouth pulls away from her neck, she nearly weeps with despair. It's only the fear that he'll pull away altogether that helps her find the strength to remain silent. He's the one to finally break the silence, whispering a single word_…strigoi…_that, although she doesn't know the meaning, chills her to the bone. His mouth is on her neck in an instant as if it had never left, and she feels a sharp sting and then pleasure…only pleasure…a dizzying pleasure…_

_She looks up when he pulls away, gazing down on her with a look in his tawny, ochre-colored eyes that she can't place, she sees a single drop of blood trickle from the corner of his mouth. The chill is back, turning into icy dread that trickles down her spine until, like a flash fire, it consumes her whole being. She hears laughter from somewhere in the room and, turning her head, see's Alice laughing with her head thrown back, and then her eyes – tawny, ochre colored eyes – are on her. _

_Everything is swirling in a vortex of images and emotions and sensations: Alice, Edward – His name is Edward! – and all the strange, unexplained phenomena that she's noticed over the past few months. A misplaced book, a shadow of movement in the corner of her eye, her heart inexplicably racing, the sound of wind rushing past her and then, seconds later, a breeze and the feeling of a hand brushing over her hair…and Alice…and Edward…a trickle of blood…her blood…_

_She looks up at Edward, noticing just past him, a mirror that she swears wasn't there before, and sees her image…alone…reclining on a red sofa…she looks back at Edward…he's there…and back at the mirror…he's gone…at Edward…_

_It's all spiraling in on her…faster… and faster…tighter…and tighter…and then…her name on his lips, dripping like her blood_…Isabella...

She awakes with a start, heart pounding in her ears, a tingling ache on the side of her neck, a cold sweat covering her body and her name still ghosting through her ears. Still dark out, she glances at the digital display of her clock – five in the morning – too early to get up, so she settles back to bed. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up with the prickly sensation that someone's watching her, and she frantically scans her room. She sees nothing, and there's nowhere for anyone to hide, so she writes it off as lingering apprehension from the dream that woke her…she thinks. That's when she notices the curtain hanging in front of her window gently fluttering. She gasps.

Her hand glides across her blankets, down over the side and, reaching between the mattress and boxspring, grasps one of the many cans of pepper spray her father used to press upon her every time she visited home. _One of the perils of being the daughter of a police chief._ She tentatively crawls out of bed, gripping the pepper spray with both hands and holding it to her chest as she approaches the window. As prepared as she's going to get, one hand darts out and snatches the curtain away from the window, revealing…nothing. Feeling a bit ridiculous, she chuckles mirthlessly at herself. After all, she lives on the fifth floor of her building, and has no balconies or fire escapes.

Still, she can't seem to shake the unease or the feeling that she should be worried, but…she can't quite remember why or about what. She knows it has to do with the dream she just had, and she tries to hold on to it, chasing the images as they fade, but she ends up grasping at vaporous remnants that disappear into nothing – smoke and mirrors and tricks of light – as her hand wraps around them. Disquietude falls over her like a shroud, and she finds herself unable to return to sleep, so she starts her day.

~∞Ѿ∞~

Despite doing her best to dismiss it, the feeling doesn't go away, it only increases throughout the day, and as she goes about her normal Friday routine – classes in the morning, work at the coffee shop in the early afternoon and on into the evening – she repeatedly experiences that same creepy feeling that she is being watched. Not in a casual, cursory sort of way, but in a predatory one…with her being the prey. When she finally arrives home for the day, she's overwhelmed with apprehension and dread and, for some reason, all of her concern centers on attending the party.

Jessica will kill her if she cancels, though. _Not to mention she won't be able to wear the dress, nor outshine Lauren all night,_ she thinks, eyeing the dress still hanging in its open garment bag from the curtain rod in her room. With a devious smile, her dread is all but forgotten and, thankfully, it remains at bay as she goes about getting ready, allowing her to apply eyeliner and coat her lashes with mascara without losing an eye due to unsteady hands.

Shortly before nine, Jessica calls to let her know she'll be there in ten minutes, and Bella tells her that she'll be downstairs waiting. She grabs the 'accessories' Alice included with her gown – pretty, black ballet flats, miniature top hat with attached veil, elbow length gloves – and puts them on, making sure to place the hat at a jaunty, rakish angle before securing it to her hair with the attached clip. Donning her coat, grabbing her black drawstring wristlet – another 'accessory' courtesy of Alice – and with one final glance at herself in the mirror, she heads downstairs to meet Jessica. Lauren is already at the party since it's her boyfriend Tyler's fraternity hosting it.

~∞Ѿ∞~


	2. Chapter 2 The Party

**Disclaimer: **S. Meyer owns all recognizable characters, plots, etc. Only original content, characters, etc. belongs to author. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N:** Please forgive my (I'm sure, numerous) mistakes, but I'm posting this unbeta'd. I normally wouldn't do so, but it's already a day later than I was hoping to post, and I am determined to post the finale tomorrow. I will replace it with a beta'd copy once I get it back from my wonderful, overworked beta. Thanks to Yogacat, Profitina and, most especially, RedVelvetHeaven for the pre-read. Red spent more than an hour of her time this morning going over last minute changes to this chapter. I can't thank her enough for all the time she so graciously spares for me.

Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. Enjoy, and lemme know what y'all think.

* * *

**La Casa Stregata **

Chapter 2 – The Party

* * *

Every eye in the house is on Bella when she enters – the men's filled with lust, the women with jealousy, and Lauren, in her scandalously short, boob-revealing 'costume', with absolute rage and hostility. Bella has never felt comfortable with being the center of attention, but she surprisingly doesn't squirm or blush under the unsolicited scrutiny. Something commanding came over her when she walked through the door, giving her a subtle, but quiet confidence that she's never possessed before. She's still her, though, still the same Bella, she just holds her head a little higher, her shoulders are a little more square, and she feels an ease she's never known as she engages in casual conversation.

The awkward discomfort she would normally feel in such a situation doesn't seem to be overwhelming her. She isn't trying to get away from the crush of people by hiding in some hidden alcove or quiet corner until it's time to go home. In fact, she can't remember ever having enjoyed herself more at a party, even if she's just arrived. Truthfully, she can't remember ever having enjoyed attending a social gathering of any kind the way she seems to be enjoying this one so far. All of the apprehension and nervous misgivings that have been with her throughout the day are still there, lurking somewhere behind all of her newfound confidence, but with each glass of rum laced punch she consumes, they're buried a little bit deeper.

~∞Ѿ∞~

As she wanders throughout the party with Jessica, she takes in the turn of the century home – and not the last century, but the one before that – noting how remarkably well-kept it is for being more than one-hundred years old, especially considering its use as a fraternity house. She's following indolently behind Jessica, looking at the pictures of the current and past brothers on the wall, when she sees an engraved bronze plaque nestled between the photos and stops to read it.

MASEN HOUSE  
Built in 1899 by Edward Masen  
Loaned in 1989 to the Greek society  
Sigma Alpha Epsilon

The name makes her pause. It's familiar somehow, but she can't for the life of her put her finger on how she knows it. The only Edwards she knows are characters in her favorite books, and she's certain she's never met anyone by the name of Masen, at least, not with that spelling. The boy with whom Jessica's been talking notices Bella's preoccupation and addresses her, pulling her attention away from the plaque.

"So, you ever hear the story about the Masens?"

"Hmm? Stories? No, I don't think so." _Maybe that's why the name's so familiar?_ she thinks.

"I can't believe you've never heard this. Ben, you have to tell her!" Jessica demands, giggling.

"Okay, okay. So, Ed Masen, Senior, a prominent lawyer with his own law firm, had the house built after he married his wife Elizabeth. He worked closely with the architect on the design, which was actually quite odd at the time it was built…hell, it's still an odd design. He included features like hidden passageways for the staff so they could move quickly and quietly throughout the house, and the open floor plan you see down here so they could host large formal parties.

"Except for upgrades to the wiring, heating, lighting and some of the appliances, the house is exactly as it was back when it was built – even the original dumbwaiters still work," he adds.

"Ugh! Never ask an architect major to tell you a story about a house. Get on with it, you dope! You haven't even gotten to the actual story yet," Jessica accuses.

"Alright, alright, moving on," Ben guffaws in a dorky, but endearing way. "The Masens only had one child, a son named Edward Anthony Masen, Junior…"

Brown hair with glints of bronze throughout it and a strong jaw appears in Bella's mind. It's just a flash, barely long enough for her to register what the image even is, let alone make sense of it, and she brushes it off to focus back on the story that Ben is in the middle of telling for her benefit.

"…the whole family succumbed to the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918, but…the body of the son, Edward Junior, disappeared. By all accounts at the time, the boy was on his deathbed when the nurse left to wheel his mother's body down to the morgue, and when she finally made it back to his ward – he was gone. The hospital has no record of his discharge, and he was never issued a death certificate since his body never made it to the morgue. He just – up and vanished.

"The house sat vacant until it was donated to the college in 1989. Well, loaned really; it reverts back to the Masen Family Trust next fall. The trust has always been managed by one law firm or another – it changes ever decade or so – so maintenance has always been kept up on the property, but no one ever lived here until it was loaned to our fraternity. J. Jenks and Associates is the law office that's managed the property since we got use of the place – well, most of it. We can't use any of the east wing – we don't even have access to it, actually – and there are tons of rules about what we can and can't do on the premises and to the building.

"For instance, no holes can be put in the walls, no smoking inside, no painting, etcetera. Most of it's pretty standard stuff really, the only thing that was ever considered odd about it being loaned to the school was that the house had to be used to house our fraternity, and any other use would result in the contract being rescinded. I guess the Senior Eddie was president of the frat back in his college days…"

"You're taking too long with all of your unnecessary details that no one cares about," Jess interrupts. "I'll finish this tale, because Aesop, you are not. So…the house sat empty all these years, right?" Bella stays silent, knowing that it's rhetorical valley-girl speak, not a genuine question. "Well, there are stories of him – the younger Edward, that is – having been seen haunting the house…with blood red eyes just a few weeks after he disappeared from the hospital, but that's not the only time he was supposedly seen.

"Legend has it that sometime in the twenties or thirties, I forget which, he was seen repeatedly – same blood red eyes, and…he looked exactly the same as he did before he got sick except extremely pale…like a vampire."

The word causes a chill to run down Bella's spine, and something nags at the back of her mind, but she chalks it up to whatever it is that's been making her feel so off all day. She must be getting sick or something.

"So you're saying this house is rumored to be haunted by a turn of the century vamp?"

Jessica and Ben both nod emphatically, looking a little like bobbleheads. "That's the story, anyway," Ben confirms aloud.

"Let me guess," Bella starts, pausing to roll her eyes before continuing. "He comes back every Halloween and takes his vengeance out on people dressed as vampires…or maybe just the co-eds?"

Jess and Ben both look at each other, and then Jess answers, "No, actually. That was the extent of the legend."

"That's kind of a lame legend. I mean, no offence, but that's hardly scary. I thought haunted houses were supposed to have a more sinister story behind them. This guy sounds like a wuss-pire to me."

Looking a little offended by Bella slighting his story, Ben defensively informs her, "Back in the thirties, the same time he was allegedly spotted here, there were a series of unexplainable deaths in the city. They appeared to be unrelated except for the cause of death. All the victims that had what appeared to be a vicious bite wound to their throats, and were all exsanguinated, but there was never any sign of blood at the crime scene…not a drop. There was also no evidence that they'd been moved after death. With no evidence or suspects, the police were at a loss, but seeing as how all the victims were low-life criminals, they didn't really pursue the cases."

"Wow, it's a noble vampire haunting the place? Is he cute or does he have a brother…preferably a much younger one?" Bella jokes, causing Ben to look a little put out, which leads Bella to believe that he is trying to impress her.

Feeling a bit guilty because he seems like pretty decent guy – a bit of a dork, but genuinely nice and non-douchey – she's just about to apologize when Jess blurts out, "Actually, yeah – he was pretty hot."

"What? How do you know? Have you seen him, Jess, and were you drunk or high at the time, because, if so, it doesn't count?" she can't help teasing her friend.

Jess rolls her eyes again, but she's nearly buzzing with restrained excitement, causing the gesture to lose effect. "No, asshole. There's a picture of him in the office by the front door – the whole family actually, but there's one of just him on the wall, too. Wanna see it?"

"Okay," she agrees, because she knows Jess will drag her there regardless.

"Yay!" Jess squeals, clapping her hands and jumping up and down before grabbing Bella's wrist and – sure enough – dragging her along to the office next to the front entrance.

~∞Ѿ∞~

Not wanting to draw any attention, Jess leaves the lights off when they step inside the office, waiting until the door is fully closed behind them to look for the lights since no one is supposed to be in there. As she fumbles, searching for the light switch, the hair on the back of Bella's neck stands on end, and her skin crawls with that same peculiar feeling of being watched. Standing in the dark while Jessica keeps searching for the light, Bella presses her back up against the door, her hand moving to the knob behind her as a surge of fear jolts through her nearly paralyzing her. She finds herself silently urging Jessica to hurry the fuck up and find the Goddamn light, and when she finally finds the damn thing, Bella's so grateful she could almost kiss her.

"Got it!" Jess announces just before she flips the switch and the lights flicker on, the brightness so glaring that it renders both girls temporarily blind. Still blinking furiously, Bella raises her head and gasps, her hand flying to clutch at her chest over her thundering heart.

"What is it, Bella?" Jess asks, grasping Bella's arm and causing her to turn her head toward her. Her vision finally clears, and she quickly looks away from Jess and back across the room…at nothing. She's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed by it…or if there really was nothing there. _She was so certain…_

Scanning the rest of the room before she replies, she finally answers, "Uh, nothing…I guess. I thought I saw someone…or something, but I must have just been seeing things."

Jessica doesn't notice the disbelief lacing Bella's tone. Instead, she pulls her along to the wall on their left, and scans through the assorted historical photographs hanging there, but where the pictures of Edward Anthony Masen, Junior should be…there is nothing, only gaping holes where the frames are supposed to be In fact, all the photos of the Masen family seem to be missing except one: a small and blurry print of the elder Edward and his wife Elizabeth.

"I don't understand! I was just in here earlier today, and none of the photos were missing then. What could have happened to them? They better turn up, or the there's going to be hell to pay with the lawyers office. The photos are the property of the trust and…" Jessica continued to ramble on, but Bella is too caught up with staring intently at the old and poor quality photograph of the Masens, trying to ascertain what it is about the man in the photo that seems so familiar to her, and isn't listening.

"Bella…Bella, are you even listening?" Jess inquires in an annoyed tone as she painfully nudges Bella's arm with her elbow, effectively snapping her out of her daze.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, it's really cold in here. Are you ready to go back out to the party?"

"Oh…um, yeah. Let's go," she agrees, noticing the cold for the first time and shivering.

~∞Ѿ∞~

She follows behind Jessica as they slip out of the room – shutting the lights off before opening the door, of course. As they rejoin the party, they're almost immediately stopped by someone wanting to chat with Jess. Since she's not really being included in the conversation, Bella uses the opportunity to discreetly look around the immediate area, checking to see if anyone noticed them sneak out of the office. Just when she thinks that they're in the clear, she meets a set of eyes attached to a tall guy who's leaning against the wall on the other side of the room with a drink in his hand. He's checking her out, not even bothering to conceal the fact that he's doing so, so she looks him over just as blatantly.

She's doesn't think she's seen him before because she's certain she would remember him, if only for his hair. Sandy blonde, chin-length, and wavy, it reminds her of a style a surfer would sport and, considering they're distance from the ocean, it's not exactly a common look. Tilting her head and pursing her lips a bit as she checks him out, she decides that he's attractive – unnaturally so – but there's something about him that's off-putting. However, in a manner she's starting to consider par for the course, _what _exactly is bothersome eludes her.

Maybe it's the way he's staring at her, his dark, hooded eyes alternating between roaming unabashedly over her body, and peering intently at her face as if it holds the answer to some question he has. Though it's admittedly making her want to squirm like a fish on a hook, she is almost positive that that's not it. When his eyes finally settle, locked on hers, she feels as if he sees right through to the quick of her and knows all of the things she's trying to hide. _Maybe that's what's so unsettling? _Uncomfortable, she breaks the connection, and is happy that, at nearly the same time, Jessica's conversation ends.

Bella hooks her arm with Jessica's, and leans into her conspiratorially. "Who's that guy over there, leaning against the wall? The blonde, surfer-looking one?" she asks with a subtle nod in his direction.

Jessica doesn't know the first thing about tact or discretion, so naturally, she snaps her head his direction, blatantly ogling him, and then, maintaining eye contact and with a small smirk on her face, answers, "Oh, him? That yummy piece of ass is Jasper Whitlock. He's new, transferred late from some school over on the west coast with another guy. Emmett McCarty I think.

"I don't really know much about either of them, because they're not exactly the most social brothers in the house, but they're definitely the hottest. Unfortunately they both have girlfriends…"

"And you have a boyfriend-almost-fiancé of your own. Down, kitty," Bella chirps.

"_AND _I have a boyfriend, which I was _just _about to say before you so rudely interrupted me," Jess states exaggeratedly. "So even if I was interested – which I'm not because of the aforementioned boyfriend-almost-fiancé, whom I very much love – they're already taken."

Bella laughs at her, and affectionately teases, "Scandalous whore."

"You know it. Now let's go see about refreshing our drinks, and finding you a man."

"Oh, no! Don't even think about it, Jess. Why don't we just try and find _your_ man after we top off our drinks. I thought you said he was supposed to be here by now?"

"Fine, whatever, ya' prude. Come on." With that, she allows Jess to tow her off in the direction of the bar on the far side of the room. Bella feels his eyes – Jasper Whitlock's eyes – boring into her the entire way. Right before she disappears from his sight, she turns her head to see if he really is still staring at her or if she's simply thinking too much of herself and, sure enough, he is. Rather than flushing at the attention as she expects, she just feels confused.

~∞Ѿ∞~

It's not long after they make it to the bar and refill their drinks that Bella loses sight of Jessica somewhere amidst the fracas of the now in full-swing party. Deciding to get another glass of punch, she casually scans the overcrowded room for Jessica's curly head, stopping to mingle with the occasional familiar face as she makes her way back to the bar. It's the best place to wait for her because, knowing her friend well, she knows Jessica will eventually make her way back there…sooner rather than later.

Winding sinuously through the crowded room, an icy finger of fear slides inexplicably down her spine and that now familiar feeling that someone's watching her – _I always feel like somebody's watching me,_ she hums with a nervous chuckle – prickles the back of her neck. Unable to take it any longer, she whirls around, searching the room for the source of her discomfort – who it could be, she hasn't a clue, other than she knows for certain it's not Jasper Whitlock – but doesn't notice anyone paying an inordinate amount of attention to her.

_Paranoia! Paranoia! Everybody's coming to get me!_ Bella sings under her breath as she grabs another glass of punch, and leans against the bar, searching the crowd for Jessica. No longer having fun, she feels…_off_, and suddenly wants to leave, but of course she can't.

She's just about finished with her..._umpteenth_ glass of punch and idly talking with one of guys that lives there, when she thinks she sees a flash of dark, messy hair with a hint of bronze to it. _No, he's not real, _she thinks, but she doesn't know whom _'he' _is. All she really knows is that the head of hair she thinks she saw is oddly familiar, and leaves her with a plethora of conflicting emotions. She drains her punch and, wanting to drown out her rising paranoia and newly developed (and increasing in frequency) delusions, helps herself to another cup, chugs it down, and helps herself to yet another.

Hoping against hope that she's succeeded at her task – mostly because she doesn't think she _can _drink anymore without up-chucking, and also because she's fresh out of ideas for curing herself of her delusions if rum doesn't do the trick– she turns back around, and…whatever it was she thought she saw is gone. She's still smiling over not being crazy when she's taunted again by the glint of bronzed-brown, and she realizes she spoke to soon. Punch-brave and compelled to investigate, she tops off her cup and distractedly excuses herself from the conversation she's been having with Aaron.

"Hey, I've got to run – I think I just spotted my friend that I lost – but it was really nice talking to you, Aaron."

"Eric," he says.

"Huh?"

"My name…it's Eric," he says slowly, aware without Bella having to tell him, that she's not playing with a full deck. _Clearly, since she's now imagining a head of hair that may or may not be real…and how can it be when it's not even a real hair color?_

"Sorry, about that…Eric," she apologizes, embarrassed. "I'm gonna…go," she says, the words trickling out. He starts to say something, but she's already walking away and doesn't hear him.

Bella trails after her most-likely-but-possibly-not-a-delusion, dodging and weaving through the sea of bodies now filling the house, brushing off the people that call to her with claims of, "I'm trying to find Jessica." No matter how quickly she moves through the crowd, he always stays just out of reach, never allowing her to see more than a glimpse of his hair, and once, the tail-end of his cape as he disappeared around a corner. Almost losing him as he leaves the main room heading toward the hall near the stairs, she stops and anxiously twirls in a circle, bouncing on her toes as she tries to peer over the tops of the heads surrounding her, but it's to no avail.

Surrounded on all sides by a disorienting array of costumed partygoers who seem to loom over her in a way that's beginning to make her feel trapped, her chest constricts. She whirls around again, only this time, instead of looking for the head of hair that she's been tracking, she searches for a way through the crush of bodies pressing in on her. Spinning round and round, she can't seem to find an opening to squeeze through. A feeling of claustrophobia seizes her, and she rudely shoves her way through the wall of bodies before it has a chance to set in, ignoring the complaints and protests directed at her.

Emerging from the wall of people, she pauses to collect herself, taking a deep breath of air now that it's readily available again, and a scent hits her nose. It's all cinnamon and cold like Christmas, and she intrinsically knows that it's his scent. Not questioning it, she just reacts and, turning the direction it seems to be coming from, she spots him, the mystery man with the hair, as he ascends the stairs, disappearing around the corner when he reaches the top. She rushes forward, attempting to follow, but a hand wraps around her forearm, jerking her to a halt, and she loses him.

Aggravated, she turns, unsuccessfully attempting to jerk her arm free, and faces the person gripping her arm. "Tyler," she virtually snarls with more than just a hint of the distaste and disdain she harbors for him lacing his name.

"Isabella," Tyler replies, his lips curling up in a lascivious grin that she finds faintly sickening.

His use of her full name doesn't slip past her, but she's too focused on resuming her stalking of the mysterious, faceless stranger for it to get to her like it normally would.

"Can I help you with something, or were you just randomly accosting women as they walk by? I was kind of on my way somewhere." Her voice drips with annoyance, but she doesn't care; guys like Tyler James don't understand subtle brush-offs or polite dismissals…if they did, he wouldn't have bothered to stop her.

"Oh, I can think of plenty of things you can…help me with, Isa-bella," he intones suggestively, and the way he draws out her name breaks her focus on her interrupted task, conjuring up memories of things she would rather forget.

Recoiling, she replies rudely, "For the last time… I'm. Not. Interested, Tyler. How many times do I have to tell you that before you get it through your thick, Neanderthal skull? Let go of my arm and go find your girlfriend."

She tries again to pull her arm away, but his grip tightens painfully, and he shoves her roughly against the wall, causing the drink in her other hand to fall to the floor. Leering at her, his body blocks hers from sight, and she tries not to panic. She's in a room full of people, it's not as if he can do really do anything to her…_she thinks_…_hopes_.

"You don't have to act like such a bitch. You walk around here, thinking you're so fucking special, so much better than everyone else, but you're not. I think your problem is that you just need to be fucked hard, and I'm just the man for the job." He places her hand on his pants, over his hard dick. "Well, don't just hold it there, honey…do something with it! Make me feel good, and maybe I'll give you what you need. Make me feel good enough and I might even do the same for you."

Frozen in shock, she can't move, which only succeeds in pissing Tyler off even more. He tightens his hold on her wrist, constricting around the joint almost painfully, and moves her hand firmly over his cloth covered erection, growling, "I said now, bitch!"

Following instructions, Bella wraps her hand around his package…and squeezes. "I said, let go of me, Tyler." Her shaky voice lacks conviction, but her hand is firm and steady.

He cries out as his body tries to curl itself around the pain in his groin, and his hand locks around her wrist with enough pressure to nearly drop her to her knees, forcing her to release her grip on his now flaccid dick. The moment the family jewels are safe from danger, he slams her forcefully against the wall and raises his hand, screeching in a very non-masculine manner, "You fucking bitch! I swear you're going to regret that!"

She's trying to remember everything her father ever taught her about self-defense, but when Tyler slammed her into the wall, she hit her head hard enough to stun her and her mind keeps coming up empty. However, before he can strike her, Tyler is yanked away from her.

"I don't believe the little lady is interested, Tyler," drawls a melodic voice with just the slightest twang to it.

"Fuck, Whitty! I was just talking to the girl."

"Why don't you go talk to _your_ girl, and leave _this _girl alone. I don't think she's interested."

Still a little stunned, she misses much of the confrontation, so she isn't certain to what she should attribute Tyler's chalky, fearful face as he quickly backs away mumbling, "Right, man. Right, whatever you say."

~∞Ѿ∞~

Whitty, also known as Jasper Whitlock, approaches her, hands held up in surrender, trying not to frighten her. He stops a few feet away, careful to leave plenty of space between them so she doesn't feel trapped. "You okay there, Isabella?"

"Bella." He looks at her quizzically. "Just Bella, not the other. Bella Swan," she adds self-consciously as she reaches her hand out to shake his. He takes hers hesitantly, holding it so softly that he barely touches her and releases it just as quickly. _Cold, and hard, _she thinks in the brief moment that his flesh touches hers. A memory stirs in the back of her mind, struggling to materialize, but his smooth voice blows the hazy image away.

"Okay, then – Bella," he acquiesces, trying it out. "He didn't rough you up too much did he?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Just a little shaken up, that's all." Her hand drops to her side, hitting her thigh and she winces.

"Don't look like you're fine," he observes casually as they both look down and see the mottled bruises already forming on her wrist.

Bella's face twists into a grimace at the sight of the blue and purple and red winding around her wrist like a macabre bracelet, but nothing can be done about it now. Besides, it doesn't really hurt…much. As long as she doesn't touch it – she turns her arm over, managing to mostly hide her wince this time – or move it at all; she'll be fine.

"I bruise easily, that's all. It looks much worse than it is. A little ice and I'll be right as rain."

"Okay, if you say so. Well, let me know if he gives you any more trouble tonight. I've been looking for an excuse to rough him up a little." He smiles at her quirkily, only raising one corner of his mouth, and the gesture is vaguely familiar, but once again, she can't explain how or why. It's really starting to annoy her – all of the little déjà vu-like moments – they're making her wonder if she really isn't going a bit batty.

"Will do...um, I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name," she lies, but it's only a partial lie; she really hadn't gotten it…from him.

He smirks at her, letting her know he's on to her, but he plays along anyway. "Oh, sorry about that. Jasper Whitlock, at your service, Miss Bella," he says with a slight bow, the antiquity of the gesture making her smile.

"Thank you again, Jasper Whitlock." A movement on the landing at the top of the stairs catches her eye, and she turns her head to see Jessica disappearing down the hall.

"Oh, I've got to go."

Jasper follows her gaze, and asks, "In that much of a hurry to see the haunted house, are you?"

"Huh?"

"We decorated the upstairs like a haunted house…you didn't know about it?"

She shakes her head.

"Yeah, I guess they do it every year. I just transferred from Washington state, so it's my first Halloween here. Apparently, it's pretty scary, but based on what I saw of it while we were setting it up, I don't know about that. Then again, it's takes a lot to scare me. I'm just not that afraid of things that go bump in the night," he informs her conversationally, but there's something menacing there, too, and it makes her eager to flee his presence. "You look pretty eager to get going. Don't let me stop you. Enjoy the haunted house, and let me know how it is."

"Right. I'll do that." The skirt of her dress already gathered in her good hand, she starts toward the stairs, but remembers her manners. Stopping, she turns back to Jasper and offers, "Thanks again, Jasper."

He says nothing, simply acknowledges her with a nod in such a way that it makes Bella think he'd be tipping his hat to her if he were wearing one. Turning again, she finally ascends the stairs in search of Jessica, so focused on finding her, and hopefully getting the hell out of Dodge before anything else can go awry, that she's completely forgotten her original reason for wanting to go upstairs in the first place.

~∞Ѿ∞~

* * *

**Notes:  
1. …**_I always feel like somebody's watching me_... _Somebody's Watching Me _by Rockwell  
2. …_ Paranoia! Paranoia! Everybody's coming to get me!_ _Flagpole Sitta_ by Harvey Danger


	3. Chapter 3 The Room

**Disclaimer: **S. Meyer owns all recognizable characters, plots, etc. Only original content, characters, etc. belongs to author. No copyright infringement intended. Any errors contained herein, are expressly the fault of the author and not her beta.

**A/N:**  
My eternal devotion and love to both Vanessarae and RedVelvetHeaven for all of their hard work and support. Thanks also go out to Yogacat and Profitina for prereading.

Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing. I've not replied yet, but never fear I (hopefully) will soon. (Kidding, I really will reply asap!)

Without further ado…the finale. Enjoy.

* * *

**La Casa Stregata**

Chapter 3 – The Room

* * *

She's not sure where to start, it's been long enough that Jessica could be anywhere at this point, but she figures she might as well start in the direction in which Jessica had been heading when she last saw her. With single-minded determination, she strikes off, paying no attention at all to the spooky decorations transforming the hall or the people littering it as she wanders from room to room with no luck. She's gone through probably five rooms – each gorier than the last – when she spots Jessica down at the end of the hallway, disappearing through an open door on the left. She never makes it to the room.

Crossing an intersecting hallway, only feet away from the room that she saw Jessica enter, she sees _him_ again, and veers off-course. She hurries after him, following down a maze of narrow corridors and wide hallways with no regard for her surroundings or the risks of what she's doing, just an overwhelming, inexplicable sense of urgency that drives her on. She _needs _to catch him, and each time she thinks she's lost him, panic overwhelms her, causing her heart to hammer in her chest and her breath to come in rasping pants.

Rounding a corner, she turns right down yet another hallway as he disappears into a room at the end of it. She rushes, reaching the door just before it swings closed, and pushes her way inside. Confronted by more than a dozen people surrounding her in a circle, her eyes nearly bug out of her head from fright, and she bites back a shriek. It takes her a good thirty seconds to comprehend that the 'people' are actually her own image reflecting back at her from dozens of large funhouse mirrors.

Cautiously walking further into the space, she realizes that she's in a maze and, for the first time since her confrontation with Tyler, fear rises up into her throat, but she won't be deterred, not when she's so close. Shoving it down, she boldly ventures further into the maze, thinking this must have been how Alice felt when she stepped through the looking glass. She only walks a short distance before she comes to a junction and has a choice to make. Should she go right, left, straight, or simply turn around now and save herself the trouble?

Catching a movement out of the corner of her left eye – the fluttering of a black cape – the decision is made for her. Needing no further thought, she turns to the left and rushes blindly forward. Right…right…left…right…left…or right? She's made so many turns, she's no longer sure which way is up, and she's been wandering around the maze for so long, covered so much ground, that she simply can't fathom how it's possible for her to still be inside the Masen house. Still pondering the dynamics of it, she comes to a dead end.

_This can't be right, how could she have lost him?_ She spins in a circle, her cape-like coat and dress flaring out around her and twisting about her legs when she stops, she tries to figure out which way she just came from, but she can't find the path. Turning slowly, deliberately this time, she tries to locate the break in the mirror panels that will lead her out of the dead end, but no matter how many three-hundred-and-sixty degree rotations she completes, she remains trapped. Panic is setting in – _this can't be right, isn't possible _– but she attempts to maintain some semblance of calm as she works her way methodically around the perimeter of her prison, pushing – _palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss, _flitters through her mind– against herself, testing the walls as she tries to find the path she was just on.

Her rising panic swells and breaks, crashing over her, and it's as if all the air has been sucked out of both the room and her lungs as she's tumbled about by it. Frantic and mindless now, ignoring the throbbing in her wrist, she pounds against the glass with no thought to the harm she could do to herself should it break. She's too dizzied and overwhelmed by the way the mirrors reflect and re-reflect the fear and desperation in her eyes, doubling and trebling it endlessly as the image bounces from mirror to mirror to mirror inside of mirror inside of mirror over and over and over…

She feels as if she is pressing down and in upon herself, and she realizes that there's no way out – she's trapped and all alone and surrounding herself. Gasping and sputtering as she tries in vain to draw much-needed oxygen into her lungs, black spots, pricks of dark obscuring the light, swim in her vision. _Oh, God…someone…anyone…please help! _she cries out or thinks, she's not sure which, as she slams her fists one last time against a mirrored panel with all the force she can muster – _he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts_ – and it gives, opening like a door to reveal a narrow hallway. It's dark except for the staggered warm glow coming from the wall-sconce enclosed candles, and the darkness spills into her mirror-ball prison, lapping at her feet, as she heaves great gasping breaths of oxygen.

Gaining her composure, or as much of it as she can after finding herself in such a situation, she glances at the mirrored room behind her once before peering at the dim path before her. The circles of light seem to be beckoning and guiding her forward, so she makes her decision – not that there was really much of choice to be had; it isn't as if she could go back. Still, it's with hesitance that she steps across the threshold, and warily follows the flickering candlelight down the hallway.

~∞Ѿ∞~

She's only taken a few steps when she both hears and feels the slam of the door behind her. Spinning around, one hand clutching her chest, she finds that the door to the mirror room is not only closed, but seems to have vanished entirely. Her heart rate picks up, thundering in her ears, as she continues the only way still open to her: toward the door of the unknown room.

Pausing before she crosses into the wood-paneled room, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and then steps inside – _and into the final frontier, _she thinks to herself with the giddiness that only comes from fear and facing it. She only walks a few feet inside in case she needs to run; she seems to have forgotten that there is nowhere _to_ run. The softly haunting sound of a lone violin fills the space, lulling her into a false sense of comfort, as her eyes quickly scan the candlelit room. Finding nothing menacing in the richly-appointed, if just slightly old fashioned room, she relaxes a bit more.

Just about to start searching for another door, she hears a voice – all velvet and honey and warm, dulcet tones – that she knows better than her own. However, she can't explain how she knows it, or how she knows certain things about him such as his favorite color on her is blue, but brown in general, and she knows she should probably be scared, but she's inexplicably calm. The only trace of her lingering agitation is the fine sheen of sweat causing her skin to glisten in the flickering light, her tear-dampened cheeks, and the strands of hair sticking to them.

"I happen to like that shade of crimson on you, too. It brings out the blush on your cheek nicely." He's suddenly in front of her, when she's certain that less than a moment ago he was across the room, lurking in the shadows. With a graceful movement, he lifts his hand, caressing her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, and despite the coldness of his silky skin, she feels heat bloom in her cheeks. "There it is. Lovely," he whispers, his voice as much a caress as the gesture is, and her eyes drift closed of their own accord.

He glides behind her, his arms reaching around her to unclasp her coat at her throat before his agile fingers brush her hair over one shoulder, and then lift the heavy drape of the velvet from off her shoulders and pull it away from her body. It's only when he disappears from behind her (she assumes to dispose of her coat) that she realizes she's managed to lose both her tiny velvet wristlet and her hat somewhere between the bottom of the stairs man and now. An alarm rings in her mind, reminding her that she has no clue where she is in the house or how to get back to the party, and that without her clutch containing her cell phone, she is in a precarious situation, but it's so quiet that the stranger's return to her drowns it out entirely.

She stares at him dazedly, his beauty so ethereal she's almost certain that he's a drunken delusion, and more than a minute passes before she's aware that the music has stopped. Wanting to know if he is, in fact, real, she opens her mouth to speak, but he presses one cool finger to her lips and silences her with a, "Shhh!" He then takes her by the elbow, and she allows him to guide her toward the corner of the room, to a piano that she hadn't noticed.

He sits and pulls her to him, arranging her on the bench beside him. When she's situated to his liking, his confident hands settle over the keys and he begins to play. _Für Elise,_ she notes a few measures into the piece, and almost as soon as the name of the song appears in her mind, his playing cuts off with discordant, frustrated notes.

"No, that's not right," he mutters, she's almost certain to himself. "Not right at all." He begins to play again, this time, _"Moonlight" Sonata_. Bella, having a love for all things classic – books, cars, furniture, you name it – knows her classical music, but this piece especially. She's always loved the haunting beauty of the sensual melody. Normally, she gets lost in the almost dark seduction of the notes, wanting to know a romance like the one she imagines it to be about, but at this moment, she's less aware of the beauty and seduction, and more focused on the haunted and dark qualities of the music.

"That's it," he says. "Much better."

He plays the composition flawlessly, bringing it to a gentle conclusion. No more than a heartbeat of silence is heard before the violin music is back, and he's taking her hand and beseeching her to dance. He asks with such earnestness that even though she doesn't dance (and wouldn't know how to dance to the music playing if she did), it never even occurs to her to not comply. She unthinkingly gives him her hand, and is lead to the center of the room. Once in his arms – cold and hard – he leads her in a slow, sensual waltz to the sweet strains of the playing violin.

The song isn't one she recognizes, but it's beautiful. She's completely dazzled, lost in his eyes and his arms and the music, and she finds herself thinking it's not such a bad place to be – in his arms, his cheek pressed to hers, his breath gentle against her ear while music so lovely it would make Eros weep plays softly in the background. Still, a small voice in the back of her mind (that's not as easily charmed as she seems to be)is telling her to run, that there's something sinister in the air, but the moment is too magical to let something as ridiculous as imagined fear niggle away at the back of her mind, and she chooses to ignore it.

When the dance finishes, she sighs deeply, not ready to leave his arms, and she's happy to find she doesn't have to. Keeping his arm about her, he leads her to a low table against a wall. Atop it sits a cut crystal decanter and a single glass that he fills with a sweet, dark red wine from the decanter – "The elixir of the gods," he claims – and he entreats her to drink. She once again complies, happy to make him happy, and makes quick work of the wine. When it's empty, he places her glass back on the sideboard before taking her hand and leading her to a sumptuous-looking fainting couch upholstered in scarlet silk just a shade or two lighter than her gown. It's eerily familiar, and she thinks she's on the cusp of remembering why, but his voice dispels the fragile memory before it has a chance to solidify.

"Come, il mio amore, sit with me," he requests, guiding her down to sit without waiting for her to concede, and she lets him. She is too wrapped up in the growing sense that she's done all of this before, the intensity of the déjà vu constricts her chest, and her strangely absent panic is back and growing. "Let's talk awhile, my Isabella."

"Talk about what, Edward?" she asks absently, surprising both of them by suddenly knowing his name.

"You remembered," he states in amazement, before stating the obvious, "I'm surprised – happily, because it should make everything so much easier – but surprised nonetheless. How much do you remember?"

"I-I don't know. I don't know how I knew that…I just – did." Confusion plays across her face, followed by fear that her lack of an answer has angered him and, as if her face is a book, he seems to read it all.

"Shhh, now, Isabella," he soothes. "I'm not angry with you. You have far surpassed expectations simply by remembering my name."

The slight hint of pride along with his soft words loosen her tongue, and she bombards him with questions before she can stop herself. "Who are you? What's going on? Why do I feel like I know you? Your face and your voice are so familiar to me, but I don't understand why. What and whose expectations have I surpassed? Why was anything expected of me?" She pauses to take a breath, looking down at the lace trimming the hem of her dress, chagrined, and says in a small, quiet voice so unlike her, "Sorry, I'm just terribly confused." Her throat dry, she adds, "May I have something to drink, please?"

He doesn't answer, but she feels a strong breeze, and then he hands her a glass of wine, still sitting beside her on the chaise. She doesn't take the glass. Instead, she scrambles away from him, scooting back until she hits the arm of the couch and can go no further. "Wh-what was – how did you… I don't understand. Who – what are you?" She stares at him for a moment, her face a study in fright, and repeats in almost a whimper, "I don't understand."

"And you aren't meant to. Take your wine, Isabella," he commands in voice that brokers no argument from her, and she gives him none.

She takes the proffered wine, cupping the bowl of the goblet between her shaking hands, and stares at the sanguine liquid sloshing and dripping down the inside of the glass like so much blood…and the dam breaks. Her dreams from the past few months – the ones she can only barely remember upon waking, but recalls vividly as she drifts to sleep – come flooding back, dots start connecting, and she suddenly feels as if she's going to be sick.

Images are twirling madly in her head like whirling dervishes – the dress' auspicious arrival, Alice's sudden appearance, her hard body, her frigid skin, her eyes seeming to change color. With each new image, another piece of the puzzle falls into place, slowly revealing the truth – perfectly-timed arrivals, flesh like a block of ice, eyes changing color…arrivals, hard and cold, eyes changing from black to…tawny, ochre colored eyes…_tawny, ochre colored eyes_… Edward! Alice! Even…Jasper! They all have the same eyes! Oh, God!

They're coming more quickly now, all the little inconsistencies of the past couple days, the past few months, in no particular order – her frequent feelings of being watched, Alice seeming to know her way around her building…_'Honestly, I couldn't in all good conscience allow you to carry this thing on flat ground let alone while traversing stairs…at least, I'm assuming you don't live on the first floor?'_…and her cryptic warning to lock the door, no other vehicles in the parking lot of the costume shop, the dreams, the pull she'd felt that made her follow him, the maze and the disappearing pathway, the missing photos downstairs in the office, the dreams…

It's as if everything, starting with the very first dream all those months ago, has been leading her, almost herding her, to this room…to this moment …but why?

"So Alice…and Jasper…" she asks instead.

"My sister and brother…so to speak."

"And they were part of this…whatever this is?"

"Yes," he says, and she nods, as if it matters, as if he needs her approval, which he clearly doesn't. He says nothing.

"And the missing pictures, they were really of you? This was your house?"

"Yes."

"Why did you remove them?"

"I didn't want to reveal my hand too soon. I couldn't risk you remembering, not then, not there. Seeing them shouldn't have caused you to, but your mind works…differently than most peoples, and I couldn't risk it."

She doesn't know whether she should be offended or not, but it turns out it doesn't matter; she never gets the chance. Everything finally hits her, crashes down on her and knocks her flat, and she visibly pales. Still he says nothing, simply clenches his jaw, but when she wobbles slightly, having grown dizzy, he scolds her. "Drink, Isabella. The last thing either of us needs is for you to fall faint…the couch notwithstanding," he adds with an only slightly malicious smirk, his teeth flashing bright white and sharp in the candlelight.

She has enough self-preservation to not argue, and dutifully drains her glass – grateful for the way it seems to help steel her nerves. When she hands him the empty goblet, he magics it away with a gust of wind the same way he conjured it there in the first place, and asks, "Shall we talk now, Isabella?"

"I thought we were…" she starts, but the look on his face has her changing her tune. "I mean, if that's what you wish," she answers, hoping to appease him and make it out of there alive.

"Who I am…"

"I know who you are…well, what you are," she blurts, forgetting about self-preservation for a moment.

He smiles indulgently at her. "And what is that, Isabella. Enlighten me, please."

The word is on the tip of her tongue, dying to slip out – no pun intended – but she freezes because to say it is to make it real, and she doesn't know if she's ready for it to be real just yet…or ever. This can't be happening to her, this has to be a Halloween prank of some sort, a trick, and any moment now she'll get her treat. As much as she'd like to go on believing that for as long as she possibly can, she knows she's just delaying the inevitable truth.

"Well, I'm waiting." His tone's lost its velvety texture, it's gritty and course like sandpaper against her skin, and she chafes under its pressure. Opening her mouth, she sputters, but she still can't seem to spit it out. She wishes just once in her life, she could have kept her mouth shut and her foot out of it.

"Say it, Isabella! Out loud! Now!" he bellows at her frightfully, causing her heart to nearly stop – he hears the stutter, and smiles – before racing so fast, she's certain it's going to burst from her chest at any moment.

"Vampire," she wheezes, closing her eyes tight, and hoping against hope that when she opens them, he'll be gone…but it doesn't happen.

Instead, she hears his voice – all smooth and caressing, once again – and feels his breath on her ear, too close for comfort. "Now, was that so hard?"

"No," she chokes out, too afraid of the consequences to even consider not answering him, but it doesn't escape her notice that, exactly as she remembers from her dreams, he doesn't answer her.

"Who or what I am isn't so much important as who and what you are to me, or rather, what I believe you to be, and what I intend to do with you."

"Am I wrong?" she questions hopefully, choosing to ignore the portentousness of his statement. Her eyes lift eagerly to the face of her beautiful, but terrifying captor. _How can someone so indefinably beautiful be so frightening? _she wonders.

"All the better to draw our prey – to draw _you_ in – my dear one."

_Had she spoken that aloud?_ She couldn't remember, but was still trying to when he continued – answering her question with a question, naturally.

"Will confirming or denying your fears make it easier to accept? In the long run, does who or what I am really matter? Knowing it won't change your fate."

"What is my fate?" Bella hears herself ask, but she isn't sure that she wants the answer to this question, either.

He tents his fingers and holds them in front of his face, the longest one touching his full bottom lip, while fixing her with a ponderous look. "That is what we are here to find out. I'm still…undecided, at the moment. It all depends," he answers ambiguously with a wave as he un-tents his fingers one-by-one.

"On what?" she volleys.

"Oh, a variety of things – on you, on me, on us, on which…_hunger_ I yield to. You know – this and that."

"That's rather vague," comes her retort, getting angry now. She's not a yo-yo; she doesn't like being toyed with, and she tells him so.

"I think you'll find, dearest Isabella, that I'm not all that interested in what _you_ like. This isn't about you; it's about what I want. Right now, I want you; I simply can't decide how."

"You've been planning this for months and, now that the big moment has come, you can't decide? Sounds to me like you have performance anxiety. They have pills for that, you know."

"Do you _want_ to die?" he rages, towering over her and suddenly looking every inch the ferocious vampire that she still isn't certain he is (but isn't certain he isn't, either). _She may,_ she thinks, _if only to end this purgatory she's currently in._ Of course, she doesn't say this out loud; she's a lot bolder in her head than in reality where his ire has her cowering in the corner of the sofa. "If that's what you want, I can make that happen for you. Insult me again, and I'll make the decision for you. Trust me when I say that it won't be in your favor.

"Now, if you're done behaving so impudently…" letting the sentence trail off, he stops and assesses her, waiting until he has her attention before continuing. "This was set in motion more than just months ago, try years. And I already told you why I'm undecided," he pauses, taking a moment to look her over in such a way that Bella finally understands what it means be 'eye-fucked', and then his gaze falls longingly to her neck, locking in on the throbbing of her jugular. "I assure you, my indecision has nothing to do with performance anxiety. I'm more than ready to…_perform_."

She shivers, telling herself that it's the fear prompted by his words rather than from the innuendo dripping from his double entendre, causing it. Another puzzle piece falls into place, and now it really is fear causing her to shiver.

"1989…the year I was born," she whispers to herself, indicating the year that the house was donated to the college, specifically to the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity. She brings her eyes back to his face, and he tilts his head to her in a nod, looking slightly impressed as he confirms what she's just put together.

"With all the time and effort that's been expended to get to this moment," he adds, "I need to be certain of my decision before I make it. After all, once it's made, it can't be undone."

"Why me?" she demands shakily, a tinge of hysteria staining her voice. Ignoring her, he sniffs the air – his eyes closed, a cruel smile transforming his face, and his mouth working like he can taste her on his tongue – and her skin crawls. Strangely, she feels more violated by this than if he had just forced his tongue down her throat, and she doesn't understand it.

"Something about you calls to me – both to the man and the…beast, but don't worry, il mio amore, I would never force myself upon you. _If _I take you to my bedchamber, you will come as my willing guest," he all but coos his promise, licking his lips lasciviously. She shouldn't find it even the slightest bit arousing, but she does…_only the slightest bit though, and she'd never admit it._ Smirking at her, he looks as if he's on the edge of laughter, and combined with her annoyance over her own traitorous thoughts, it's enough to push her over the edge.

She moves with a speed that startles them both, and seems to astound him so greatly that he doesn't even attempt to stop her hand from connecting with his face, though she knows very well that he could have. The flat of her palm meets his rock-hard cheek with a resounding _thwack!_ Bella bites back the cry that bubbles up as pain radiates out in waves from her already-injured wrist; she won't give him the satisfaction of knowing she's hurt. After a moment, she somehow manages to vehemently vow, "Never! I will never willingly go anywhere with you. Not even if my life depended upon it, you sick, demented fuck."

~∞Ѿ∞~

As soon as the words are out her mouth, she crumples back against the couch clutching her wrist to her chest and trying not to sob, her moment of courage revealed for exactly what it was: mere bravado that once spent, was gone, leaving her the same scared little girl she knows herself to be. She's not courageous, and what she did – poking a hornet's nest after the hornets have already warned you that they'll sting you – wasn't brave; it was stupid.

Clearly, she's pushed both him and her luck too far, because the very moment she closes her mouth on the last syllable, he is on her – over her – much like in her dream. However, unlike her dream, there is nothing about it that's sensual and nothing seductive in his face; he's frightening, and she would cry if she could only remember how. Reaching up with one cool, long-fingered hand, he grips her chin painfully, forcing her to meet his eyes. His face is close enough that their noses are practically touching, and she can taste his sweet breath.

"I warned you once not to insult me. Don't. Push. Me. Don't make me do something both of us may regret. A bit of advice: there's a thin line between feisty and foolish. Watch that you don't cross it," he warns, his eyes black and terrifying. She thinks he's being nice though; she knows she's already crossed that line. He releases her chin to brush his hand, cool and soothing, softly over her wrist, the gentleness of the gesture confusing her contrary as it is to his manner literally seconds before. Still touching her wrist, he looks pained as he whispers, "You broke it. You should be more careful."

He tilts his head, his face pressing closer, and his lips ghost across hers. His hand is back at her chin, turning her face to the side, and his nose trails across her cheek to the hollow below her ear where he takes a deep breath. The draw of air and his flesh on hers leaves the spot cold, and she shivers, causing his entire body to go stiff and his hand to tighten its grip on her chin almost to the point of pain.

"Don't move. Be very still," he instructs in a soft voice that's heavy with the same tension that's apparent in his body, and now Bella's, as she mirrors him.

Some sick, dormant, and obviously masochist part of her awakens, sighing over the eroticism of the position she's found herself in, and it takes all of Bella's control to not shift underneath him, wanting something…_more_, but she can't, or won't allow herself to put her finger on what it is. It's getting more difficult to maintain her stillness, her muscles protesting the rigidity she's forcing on them. Just when she thinks she can't possibly remain motionless any longer, she feels him relax above her, and with a sigh, the tension leaves her body. He doesn't immediately remove himself from above her, and the longer he remains there, the more aware she becomes of his body against hers.

Despite their clothing, every point of contact between them is like a bright spot of light heating her flesh until she no longer feels his chill. A small movement brings his lips in contact with the column of her neck, causing her pulse to race wildly. _Is this the end_, she wonders, tensing, but he simply places a chaste, lingering kiss there before pulling his head away and staring down at her, his soft eyes reminding her of the way he always looked at her in her dreams. He turns her head so she's facing forward again, and they just stare at each other, as if they're looking for something in the others' eyes. His hand leaves her chin to brush over her cheekbone and then he slides his fingers into the loose waves of her hair.

When his eyes shift to her mouth, her lips part expectantly, but rather than kiss her as she's expecting, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He opens his eyes and the tawny ochre is replaced by a darkness darker than her own brown, darker even than black, and her fear surges back to the forefront. She can't deny the hint of lust that she feels, in spite of knowing that it's for the dream Edward, and not the horror-film-Edward hovering over her.

A long, contemplative look, and he says, "Your rapid cycling emotions are going to give me whiplash. You switch between lust and fear so frequently that my mind can barely keep up, and trust me when I say that that is a feat. I thought it would help me choose, but it leaves me in more of a quandary than before. Unable, as I am, to decide which smells better: your fear or your arousal. Hmm, I shall have to think on it some more, but while I'm thinking, dance with me."

And he's suddenly standing in front of the couch, his hand extended to her. She wants to refuse his offer, but she knows he wasn't offering, so she takes his hand, rising, and they dance for an unknown amount of time. Stopping at infrequent intervals, he plies her with more of the sweet red wine, and by the time they take their final bow and he leads her back to the couch, she's thoroughly intoxicated from both the wine and his vicinity. Their eyes never leave each other as he helps her settle, stretched out, on the couch.

Not releasing his hand, she tugs him to her, wanting him closer for some unknown reason that she can't even begin to explain – not that she wants to – and he allows it. Settling over her with his hips wedged between her parted thighs in a position that is becoming familiar to both of them, he gazes down at her. "Is this close enough?"

"No, closer," she whispers with a sultry pout, and he presses closer, but it's not close enough so she whispers against his lips, a hairsbreadth away from hers, "Closer, still."

Mutually closing the distance between them, their lips finally meet, and she sighs. Her soft exhalation seems to set something off in him, and he takes control of their kiss with a possessive, dominating growl that arouses her. She shouldn't like this, shouldn't need more, but she is far too gone to refute any of it. His growl makes her want so much – to be possessed, dominated, owned by him – and she arches her back, offering herself to him; he happily accepts.

He shifts, rocking back onto his knees between her parted thighs, and moves his hands toward her chest as if he's about to crudely grab her breasts, but she doesn't think he would do that…would he? She starts to back away from his reaching hands when they seem intent on doing exactly that, and the reality of being awkwardly groped like they're in high school and inexperienced virgins pulls her out of her lust-induced haze. She freezes, her shame and mortification over the slutty way in which she's acting temporarily rendering her immobile, and it's just long enough to allow him time to slip his long fingers down her bodice and pull.

The sound of the tearing fabric is what finally snaps her out of it, and she feels her desire rush back, full force, as she stares down, watching as the fabric shreds so easily under his hands…hands that she wants on her…in her…

She moans softly, but needily. He stops as the tear nears her belly button and releases the two halves of her bodice, letting the fabric fall to the sides, exposing her and he stares. Bella makes no attempt to cover herself, doesn't feel the need or want to, and she has a feeling he wouldn't allow her to do so anyway. The appreciative, hungry way he's staring at her makes her feel powerful and in control…for a moment.

Hovering above her again with no warning, his tongue laves a line from the center of her throat to the valley between her breasts, causing her to gasp, and a heady but equal mixture of desire and fear to swirl in her stomach. She wants more of it – more of this feeling of need and fright, loving his forcefulness, and she tells him so, moaning out, "More! Please more!"

He complies, rucking up her skirt, pushing her panties aside, and slipping one, then two fingers inside her. Devouring her breasts greedily, moving back and forth between them, he thrusts his fingers in and out, each upward thrust of his, meeting a downward thrust of hers. She's driven to the edge quickly, but rather than cool their ardor, her orgasm only seems to spur them both on. She can't find it in herself to care how wanton she's acting or how loudly she's urging him on, not with the way he's looking at her: mesmerized and in awe as if he can't believe he's making her feel this way, drawing these reactions out of her.

Using his fingers while his lips and tongue explore her chest, neck and mouth, he brings her to orgasm two more times, and still she begs for more. Desperate and wanting, her eager fingers scramble for his belt buckle so tenaciously that he's forced to restrain her hands above her head with one of his – taking care to not harm her wrist – while the other sees to his pants himself; he doesn't want her to further injure herself or feel any pain, and he tells her so. A small portion of her mind thinks that's an odd thing for him to say since he all but told her that he is considering killing her tonight, but she doesn't want to think about her death.

Or maybe the possibility of her impending death makes her want to enjoy this as much as she can. She's not sure, but whatever the reason and despite the outcome of the evening, she's been safe and rational for too long; she wants this, wants him. Giving up, she gives in to the dark, and the last remaining shred of herself that she has been holding back – that has been holding her back – joins the rest of her. She surrenders herself to him fully and it feels like falling.

She wants to touch him or writhe beneath him, but his hold on her broken wrist above her head prevents it, so instead she watches him with heavy eyelids and lust-filled eyes, licking her lips in anticipation. His jacket and ascot had disappeared ages ago, leaving just his shirt – half-unbuttoned with some of them missing altogether – which he quickly shoves up and out of the way, and his pants, which, fueled by their mutual urgency, he only manages to shove halfway down his legs.

He lines himself up, lifts his head, peering deeply into her eyes, and then with one sure thrust he ensconces himself fully inside of her warm, slick depths, causing them both to gasp. _This,_ she thinks, _this is what's always been missing._ She's never felt this desperate, all-consuming need that she feels now, or this fullness, this completion, either. Meeting each of his movements as he withdraws and plunges forward again, they assume a desperate, primal rhythm – surging against each other, taking the pleasure they need and giving in return, they scratch and claw their way to the peak.

Panting and gasping, both of them on the cusp of ecstasy, his mouth leaves her lips to whisper in her ear, "You are mine, il mio amore. Always… Forever…"

As she starts to tumble from the heights of ecstasy, unintentionally taking him with her, he bares his teeth, giving her the gift of either eternal slumber or eternity…he's still undecided.

~ Fin ~

* * *

**Notes:  
**1. _…palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss…_ - Act I, Scene IV, _Romeo and Juliet_, William Shakespeare  
2. …_he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts… - __It_, Stephen King

**A/N:  
**This story is complete. Unsatisfying as it may be, this is how it ends. I'll leave it to you to decide whether Bella lives or dies, because I have no clue.

Several of you have expressed interest in wanting to know why Bella dislikes being called Isabella. It was merely a plot device used to illustrate that Bella is all alone in the world, having lost her parents to some unknown, tragic accident. If you look closely enough, the answers are there, but I may have been too subtle about it. (If that sounds cocky, please forgive as it wasn't meant that way. It's just that, since I wrote it, it's all so obvious to me. I sometimes forget that the reader lacks the knowledge that I have. Lol.)

Thanks for reading. This was a bit different for me, but I really wanted to try my hand at writing something that was dark without being angsty. I apologize if I missed the mark, or if the ending was anti-climatic. I rather like how it ends, but you'll have to let me know.

Happy Halloween!


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